


The Morning of the Dragon

by RideBoldlyRide



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Blood, Bloodbender Katara (Avatar), Bloodbending (Avatar), Bloodbending (kind of?), Don't get between Katara and her goal, F/M, Injured Zuko (Avatar), Katara is a BAMF, Older Zutara, Two Shot, Zutara, pitiable Azula, the poor girl is in pain, you will be cut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25401190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RideBoldlyRide/pseuds/RideBoldlyRide
Summary: A whisper of a plot against Fire Lord Zuko, brings a friend and Southern Water Tribe representative to his aid. Things don't go so well.AKA: Don't get between Katara and Zuko. She will cut you.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 92





	The Morning of the Dragon

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Doodleladi's art](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/652336) by Doodleladi. 



> I kept trying to figure out a good way to describe this story, and I just... couldn't? Maybe I'll figure it out later. But as it is, here's the story, Part One. 
> 
> Meanwhile: This is inspired by Art by Doodleladi on Tumblr- I'm going to link her Art directly below.

She had only been in Caldera City for a few days, staying at the Palace at the Fire Lord’s particular request. It wasn’t an unusual request; it was a standing invitation to all of his old friends. In official capacity as a representative of the Southern Water Tribe, she was making her semi-annual visit to reconfirm trade agreements between her people and the Fire Nation. In an unofficial capacity, she had been written by her friend, Zuko, to help with an imminent threat of unknown form. It was rumored as an attack against the throne but no intelligence had been retrieved to give this looming threat any substance. 

Finally speaking in person with him, he had seemed only mildly concerned, in contrast to the tone of his letter. When she pressured him over this he moved from his desk and paperwork without comment. Upon reaching the door, he dismissed his guard retinue before closing and latching it tightly. He had been studiously avoiding her gaze during all of this, and when he returned from the door, he sat down in the second guest chair with a rather undignified flop. A deep sigh escaped him. 

“Sometimes I forget that others don’t have to play the mind games…”

A dark brow rose at his words, her blue eyes questioning. He began to absentmindedly rub his forehead directly above his scar. Golden eyes avoided her.

“Yes, Katara, I am concerned. I’m too close to some major changes in the nation. Change doesn’t always sit well with those comfortable in their positions.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that they’d rather my father or my sister on the throne.”

Her eyes grew wide, and she now understood his request for help. But why her? Not that she was upset, she admitted only to herself. That question wasn’t worth asking, and she was quite content to metaphorically stretch her legs again in something other than politics. 

“What can I do to help?”

With that, the next two days were spent elbow deep in intelligence reports, and meeting with the Fire Lord’s Head of Intelligence, a stern faced, graying woman. From as far as they could determine, it was Azula sympathizers. As for the date and actual form of the attack, Katara was at a loss. These dissenters were a well-organized crew and tight lipped. The first sign of their existence was a misplaced pamphlet. And while some of their activities were easy to track, there were large brush strokes missing in the overall painting. By the third morning, she awoke feeling more frustrated and inexplicably drowsy rather than rested. 

As she withdrew the curtains, the brilliant morning light was sharp and piercing. Her head pounded. Pulling the water from her nearby water bowl, Katara’s hands glowed as she placed them over her temples. As the pain eased, she was surprised to find that the drowsiness refused to budge. On instinct, she followed her Qi lines downwards, following a small ripple in their flow. The ripples grew into a full turbulence in her belly. Even through the fog, her mind snapped into place. 

She had been drugged. 

With a wave, she leeched the toxin through her skin, and flicked it out the open window. Mind finally clear, a sudden litany of observations flooded her consciousness: there was no fresh water in her bowl, no attendant at her door trying to rouse her at this late hour, no Zuko doing his morning kata in the courtyard. Dread settled in the pit of her stomach. With a mad rush, she sprinted first to the Fire Lord's office chambers. 

No guards outside the door.

No Zuko inside. 

Next, to the throne room, and once more, there was no guard. 

Another empty room. 

With bile rising into her mouth, she bolted down the hallway. In the transit, she was amazed to find no staff or guards wandering the Palace. Outside the Fire Lord's chambers, two guards sat slumped. Scorch marks and melted armor told her who had been there. However, she was mollified, in a morbid way, to see that smoke still rose from their mortal wounds. Their visitor was recent. And potentially still within.

Moving quietly to the door, she laid an ear against the wood grain. Ever so slightly, she could make out the familiar quiet but frantic female voice. A meaty thump echoed, followed by a muted groan. Katara's heartbeat pounded in her ears. She didn't need to wait any longer. Pulling water from the very humid air about her, she coiled it like an angry snake, and with it's strike it broke open the door before her. 

Anger sparkled like icy crystals behind her eyes, as the waterbender took in the room. While she was certain there were others involved, the room held only Zuko and Azula; the former, bound and gagged on the floor. A mist rested over his eyes, and Katara was certain he too had been drugged. 

A cackle escaped his sister's mouth, and she turned to the angry gaze of her older brother. 

"Look, Zuzu! We're having a reunion!" Wild amber eyes flicked back and forth between the two. The younger woman was ready for this insurrection to end before it had truly started, but as she reached out to pin Azula to the wall, she saw the fear slip over Zuko's eyes. Katara faltered in that moment. 

Azula smirked, pointing two lazy fingers at her. 

"Bam."

And Katara's world went dark. 

* * *

She awoke again, sick to her stomach. While not sure of what had hit her, she was sure it was not Azula's lightning. For one, Katara was certain that if she had been shot through with lightning, she would not have woken back up again. Secondly, the only thing that ached was her head. The pain was only exaggerated, she found, by the pressure and sway from her motion. In her addled brain, Katara felt the sea swell around her but as she reached out blindly, there was only a haze of water about her. Something held her hands in a solid clasp, and they moved together only, still drawing nothing from the ocean that must exist beyond her eyelids.

Confusion seeped through the fog enveloping her mind. How could she sway without the sea, be bound without seaweed at her joints, have her head throb without the pressure of the ocean's depths?

Sway…? Bound, pain…? Her mind was jumbled, until they crested a wave, broached. The jostle forced her eyes open, as she struggled to make sense of her last waking memory. Through pure muscle memory, her body remained limp, allowing her eyes to take in her surroundings before moving. Her joints remained loose, and as she swayed, she attempted to make sense of what she saw. 

Instead of the blues and greens of the ocean, or even the inky blacks of the sea at night, she found rock and dust, cast in a flickering red glow. She swayed, not with the waves, but with a gait. Seaweed did not rest around her wrists and ankles, but rather coarse rope. And the pounding in her head, she suspected, originated more from the cause of the drizzle of blood that seeped from her hairline to one of her eyes. 

The waterbender was dazed, her thoughts still a jumbled mess, but she tried to sew together the tapestry. With a sudden pop of recognition, she saw her last moment before the dark. 

Azula… Zuko!

The memory of her dear friend brought the unease from her stomach to the back of her mouth, and she swallowed the acrid taste back down. It was better for her captors to think her still incapacitated, and unaware, as she gathered whatever intel she could glean from them. Through the roar of a non-existent surf, she could make out the shape of the words spoken around her, but only with intense concentration. 

"... over there. I want her fully within view." It was a growling voice. Angry, dismissive, sneering. Solidly masculine. 

Her current mode of transportation stopped, pulling themselves upright, before moving again. As the joint of the wall and the floor came into view she willed her body limp. Her courier was less than gentle, but she forced the pain away from her face, allowing a neutral facade to stay in place, as she was dumped unceremoniously against the wall. 

Keeping her eyes closed, she focused on the rest of her senses, including the pull of the moon on her skin. She knew they must not be too far from the surface, for while it was distant, it was not unattainably muted. Maybe midday? The waterbender had not been unconscious for too long. 

The floor under her felt cold but dry. Around her, past the smell of dust, a faint rancidly sweet smell permeated from every pore and crevice. At the rustle of fabric, she heard metal jangle, being dragged both across stone and something else metal. Heavy metal. Desperately, she tried to piece together the puzzle, but the only connections she could make were hardly settling her concern. A hearty thump reverberated near her, bracketed by a pained grunt. 

It took all of her willpower not to open her eyes at that moment. Fear danced in her belly, for Katara was certain she knew who had made that noise. Instead, she waited until footsteps moved towards her. They stopped just shy, closer to the origin of the enclosed space's newest inhabitant. 

"Here, Father. And that peasant is the one I spoke about." Azula. Her voice was high. Too high. The water tribeswoman wondered if she had stopped taking her herbs, or if the seeming taming of the young woman over the past few years had been an act all along.

_Wait. Father?!_

Katara's heart jumped into her throat. She had never heard Ozai's voice before but it was easy to place that scathing voice with the warped scar on Zuko's face, and she felt a bitter anger grow from her chest, down to her fingers, tingling. All she had to do, Katara knew, was reach out, and she would be able to feel his heart beat, the blood rushing through his veins. And with a snap, she could end it right there. It's what Zuko would deserve- a fresh slate wiped clean with the blood of his father. Her mind wandered to Azula- how she might actually be able to heal without the presence of Ozai…

But in that half breath, she released the tension in her body, and let the thought crash upon the rocks of her mind. It's not what Zuko would want- not what would be good for anyone. Instead, she waited and the dark wave washed over and away.

"Good." The older man purred, and she listened as a ruffle of fabric brought him closer to the ground. "I thought I told you, Zuko. Defiance would be your downfall. Consider this the push."

With a flurry of sound, she heard the footsteps retreat, along with the scraping of bare skin upon the stone. A grimace tried to cross her neutral expression, but she caught it in time. The healer knew she was going to have her work cut out for her once it was all said and done. Far enough away now from the sounds, she felt confident to open her eyes to slits. 

They were in a meat locker. An old, unused one, but its original purpose was obvious. Meat hooks of various weights and sizes hung across metal grids, above. Blue eyes watched worriedly, as the older man reached for one of the stockier hooks hanging, dragging it to where his son laid discarded and bound on the floor. A growl on his lips, Ozai snatched his bound hands and caught the rope on the hook overhead, latching it into place. It was just high enough that she recognized that Zuko stood high on the ball of his feet. 

Father and son stood eye to eye.

"So." Ozai began, his voice only betraying disgust at the young man before him. Katara's heart sank, as she spotted the one thing Zuko was desperately trying to hide, to tamp into the deep recesses of his expression. Fear. "You thought you could usurp my throne."

A strangled noise came from behind the young woman and Katara recognized with a pang of surprise, that Azula stood directly behind her. The thought caused an immediate reaction, so quick that she couldn't suppress it. The waterbender jolted. Evidently Zuko wasn't the only one who couldn't control the fear these two wrought. 

Azula jumped upon it like a cat-wolf on its prey. Fingers with jagged, raw nails, dug into the flesh in her arm. She felt the prick of blood breaking through the surface of her skin. 

The pretense was gone, and Katara turned to face Azula, fury behind the tumultuous seas in her eyes. While Zuko had been gagged, she had not, and in the moment she took advantage of it. 

"I wish I had been wrong about you." Katara's words were like venom, and the noble woman's expression fell. Taking advantage of the lull, and the sudden release of pressure from her arm, the waterbender turned, and bit down hard upon the closest thing she could find. It ended up being Azula's forearm. 

There was a certain level of justice she felt when she withdrew, leaving bloody teeth marks embedded in her flesh. Azula withdrew with a cry and fell back, clutching her arm. With a spin, she knocked the young noble off her feet. Reaching for her bound ankles, Katara pulled at the water around, but could barely gather enough for a small wisp of a stream. 

Behind her, she heard a degrading laugh, and it lashed like a whip across her back. Defiant eyes flashed towards the prior Fire Lord. 

"You." Her voice was rough, growling. "You're out of your crate."

She watched with satisfaction as her words hit home. His unblemished gaze turned in rage towards her. 

"Mongrel." He sneered.

Disgust rolled through her, as she pulled at the rope coiled at her ankles, feeling it finally break free. A sound caught her attention, as Zuko released a muffled cry towards her. His eyes were wide. 

Water was nearby, but too far away for her to pull to her easily, and with an unhinged disgraced princess and an infuriated ex-Fire Lord so close, the effort would be deadly. For a moment, she questioned her verbal jab, but didn’t have any real time to consider it, before she heard the crackle of fire. Rolling, legs now free, she ended back on her knee and foot, sitting low, as blue fire licked at where she had stood just a few moments prior. As much as Katara wanted to focus on Zuko, and getting him away from his father, Azula forced her attention on to her only. 

Desperately, she reached again for water, but found it still inaccessible. But like a whisper in a room, she felt a tingle at her arm, now dripping with her own life force. There was another option…

* * *

Zuko watched the fight starting across the room from him, leaning into the heat from his sister’s fire. Straining against his binds, he had dismissed all thought of his now non-bending father, until his face swam before him. As powerless as Ozai now was compared to him, the young man was not naive enough to think he held no threat. 

“This was going to be an easy transition, you ceding the throne to save your little peasant friend.” His words sneered, hinted at something more, but Zuko didn’t care. “But now, it seems we’re going to have to go about this the old fashioned way.”

A flash of light off steel, and Zuko knew what fate his father had in mind for him. Instead of watching what neared him, he tore his face away, desperate to watch for Katara’s success and survival. A hand behind his head, gripped at his hair, pulling him forward, and his father’s words were in his ear. Amber eyes refused to turn to him, but the words were as cold as the steel he felt slip through his skin.

“I should have just let you die the night you were born. You’ve been nothing but a disgrace to me.”

Zuko knew of the night he had been born, under a full moon, in the depths of winter, for he had barely breathed, and was far too cold. He had been told of how his father kept him warm for the next day, against his skin. That was when his family still had a chance of joy. Of happiness. And now… this final betrayal of his father’s love hurt more for the lack of surprise. 

Abstractly, he felt the cold steel slide out of his side. The pain had yet to flare, but his knees gave way, and he sagged, all his weight now hanging from his arms. Ironically, he thought, the pain in his shoulders was worse than the one in his side. A shot of electricity from his side flared and a groan escaped him, unbidden.

_Oh_. He thought. _Oh, there it is_. 

* * *

She danced, feet light, slowly working her way around, while the enraged princess spewed fire about. Katara's head still pounded, and it made her work hard to concentrate on through the haze. The small sliver of water she had pulled at earlier was slowly working its way through the ropes at her wrists as she twisted away from yet another geyser of flame.

A groan reached her ears, and she turned in time to see Zuko sag as a dark line grew across his abdomen, and slid effortlessly down his lines. 

"No…" it wasn't a cry of anguish, a scream of rage, but rather a whisper of fear.

The distraction was all Azula needed, and she felt the heat wrap around her shoulder. A smell of scorched hair, fabric and flesh tickled her nose, as the fire blossomed on her. She rounded, fury now in her eyes, as the ropes fell away. 

In her peripheral, she registered Ozai's retreat up the stairs, his prison garb flashing red, but she watched the more dangerous of the two- Azula. The action of the fight brought Katara to bear, and the wild-eyed woman now stood between her and her goal: Zuko, who's belly was becoming slick and dark in the dim light, and the skin around his eyes was becoming tight. Even still, his gaze was locked on the battle before him. 

A new feeling coiled in her belly, one of warmth, certainty, when their eyes met over the head of his sister. She was familiar with the feeling- she had felt it years ago, when she had to fight her way to him across the coronation plaza. The difference now was that she was old enough and experienced enough to put a word to the feeling. 

Now wasn't the time to name it though, and instead, she used it as fuel to clear her mottled brain. The tingle was back at the liquid pooling down her limp arm, since the pain of the fire rendered it temporarily useless. It wasn't water, but the flow of liquid, and intuitively, she knew that while it may be slightly more sluggish to move, bending it was fully well within her reach. 

With her free hand, she pulled the blood away from her arm, and it twisted threateningly, it's shadow purple in the blue flames. Eyes narrowed, she matched the harried gaze of Zuko's sister, and dropped her tone to ice.

"You have a choice. Either you move," she dipped her head menacingly, "or I go through you, Azula."

An angry, broken cry echoed through the room, as blue fire flared from her fingertips, following the wild swing she took towards the tribeswoman. Uncontrolled and wild, Katara easily sidestepped, bringing her whip of blood around, grazing it's sharp edge against her cheek. It drew its own line of crimson. Light brown eyes filled with tears, and she stumbled for a moment. 

Twisting to round again on Azula, her bloody whip (disconcertingly) growing, Katara turned onto her heel, leaned back, and softly molded the dark mass of fluid before her. Her fingertips danced hungrily at its shape, crafting something new. Standing back, one leg drawn in closer, but loosely placed before her, she eyed the other young woman. The look in Azula’s eyes was familiar, as she paced like a caged boar-hound. As she passed directly in front of the water tribeswoman, something popped behind her eyes, and the unsteady girl dropped low, knees bent and arms drawn up to her chest. 

Letting loose a volley of fire balls, Katara’s dark mass of blood surged, flattening before her like a shield. Foot sliding forward, she leaned into the motion, dragging her arms, even as the smell of metallic burning reached her nose. She pulled more from the open wound in her arm to replenish the blood burnt away by the saving motion. A shift in her hands, and the free flowing blood became a circle over her head, as she swept the noble’s feet from under her. The strike of the bent material on Azula’s already wounded cheek acted like a splash of cold water, and she came up sputtering. Katara used the moment to keep her on her toes.

“What are you hoping to accomplish, Azula? Ozai’s already gone.”

“He’s gone to secure my throne!” Her dark eyes flashed, and she recovered, sending out a new spray of fire. Katara merely side stepped, gripping her wrist with the now-whip, and using it to tug her forward and off her feet.

“It didn’t sound that way to me…” A dark brow rose over a too-blue eye. “Sounded like he was warming the throne solely for himself.”

“That’s because you’re a peasant!” The girl spat back at her. “You wouldn’t understand the throne!”

There was no fire in Azula’s hand as she leaned forward again, still struggling to regain her footing. Her ragged nails were the only part that made contact with Katara’s cheek. Three new lines of crimson blossomed across her cheekbone. The blood bender merely added its contribution to the crimson pool before her. 

“And I have no desire to, in the way in which you rule. Tell me, Azula,” she slid sideways again to avoid the flailing of the other fighter. She had no fire, no spark in her actions. Katara had no more fear for Azula. All of hers now waited on the other side of the room, where Zuko’s head now dropped forward loosely. “Tell me, who would you rather care for you? Rule over you? Ozai? Or… or Zuzu?”

The nickname felt like poison on her tongue, having only heard it used derogatorily. But she also knew that, once upon a time, that nickname was everything to both of them. She hoped her words might stir that memory more than before. Azula stood stock still before her for a moment, and blue eyes watched her warily. 

The prior Crown Princess, however, was defeated, and not by Katara’s whip. 

Slowly, a knee quivered, and then crashed to the ground, followed by the rest of the young woman’s body. The heels of her palms crushed into amber eyes. Sobs, slow and heartfelt escaped her as she crumpled onto the floor. 

"...he left..." her words were full of pain, slipping between sobs, "... gone…t-took it all away… again... but Zuzu…" 

Sharp nails clawed through disheveled hair. Katara sat up, recognizing the threat as now non-existent, but still moved cautiously around her. As soon as she moved away from the kneeling figure, the waterbender bolted to Zuko's side. His body hung limply from his wrists. With a twist of her hands, his binds fell away, and he slid to his knees with a loud thunk, but she caught him before he fell the rest of the way. His head slumped on to her shoulder. Panic flared in her belly, and tears sprung behind her eyes. 

"Zuko? Zuko?" Fingertips slipped into his hair, trying to rock him into consciousness. "Please. Please. Don't leave me." 

Desperation clawed up her throat. All the things that had sat unspoken, desires and fears, that were at the back of her brain, always at the tip of her tongue, and she couldn't do anything. There was no water, nothing she could pull to heal him. Eyes tight, tears began to trace lines down her cheeks. 

Tears. 

She pulled what she could: tears fallen, sweat on bare skin, condensation on the walls and steadily the water gathered at her hands and glowing, gently, she laid her fingertips on his open wound. 

"Please, Zuko…" she pressed her lips into his hairline, "don't leave me. I have too much to tell you…"


End file.
